


have/hold

by lacquer



Series: a fire, a flame [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and kinda, briefly threatened violence, idolverse with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 00:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/pseuds/lacquer
Summary: Minghao struggles to adapt away from home. Hansol gives him something to hold on to.





	have/hold

**Author's Note:**

> a few brief notes:  
1\. yeah I don't know either. 8 got new hair and i went absolutely feral  
2\. my second svt fic! please be kind. this was meant to be my first and then Jun happened, which is pretty consistent with my day to day life if I'm being honest  
3\. thank you to aise for reading this through and not immediately telling me to chuck it into space!  
4\. enjoy?
> 
> additional content warnings/explanations in the end notes

Minghao is going to kill someone. Possibly one of fellow trainees, possibly just himself. There’s an itch crawling up his spine, and his fingers have been on the wrong side of claw-like for going on a week now. Seungcheol had tried to talk to him about it, but all that resulted was Minghao snarling at him, a silverbright flash of fangs and scales. 

Wolves  _ really  _ didn’t understand.

Normally at home this is when he would take a couple of hours to himself and calm down, stalk the perimeter of his ground and remind himself of what was his. But see, there’s the other problem. 

With debut coming up Minghao  _ has  _ no time to take off, and in a dorm of 13 he can forget about personal space. He didn’t realize the lack of both was wearing on him until recently, but now that he’s noticed there’s no putting the revelation back. 

When he nearly takes off Mingyu’s arm for using his toothbrush, Minghao decides that something has to change. 

This is how it goes:

Minghao walks into the room, half into his sleeping clothes already. There’s an ache that’s buried itself into his temples, exhaustion sharp edged, and he desperately wants to collapse into his bed. The toothpaste is making its rounds and he wants to make sure he gets some. What he doesn’t expect is to see Mingyu with a toothbrush in his mouth, on his phone. A red toothbrush. 

Minghao’s toothbrush.

He had  _ told _ him already. Stop touching his stuff. Minghao is halfway across the room before his brain reconnects to his feet, and by that point it’s too late, he’s already half convinced to continue. 

“What are you doing?” Minghao counts himself lucky that it comes out mostly normal, only a hint of smoke in his words. 

At his approach, Mingyu looks up, eyes wide. He keeps brushing though, which makes the tiny lizard part of Minghao’s brain call for his blood. Something else in him too, a little softer, flinches back at Mingyu’s lack of reaction, a cat with fur rubbed the wrong way. Minghao’s words were clearly a question of territory, how did Mingyu not see that-

“Brushing my teeth.” Is what Mingyu says, except that he keeps brushing while talking, so it comes out more like, “Bwushing my teef.”

“With my toothbrush.”

For a second, it looks like Mingyu won’t respond, but then it clicks. He pulls it out and looks. It’s definitely Minghao’s. Mingyu looks back up at him, a little apologetic. “Sorry, I’ll make sure to wash it.”

And then he goes to start brushing again. As if Minghao’s claim didn’t matter at all. The thought sends a white heat searing over the crown of his head. He can see his nictitating membranes blink over his vision, tinting everything moonpale in preparation for a fight. 

“Put it down.”

It takes a moment for Mingyu to look up, but when he does, Minghao knows his teeth have already sharpened themselves into points. When he doesn’t move except to slowly stand up, Minghao lunges. 

It’s an aborted launch, stopped before it can really start—the rational part of his brain screaming  _ do not do not do not _ —but he ends up with his talons an inch away from Mingyu’s shoulder, the space between them sparking with restrained violence. 

Mingyu, toothbrush abandoned, looks down at him with wide eyes. Minghao trembles, torn between wanting to tear his arms off and leaping away.

Carefully, Mingyu says, “Come on Minghao.” 

The sound of his bare name in Mingyu’s mouth is enough to shake him, the shock of waking up to find himself under deep water.  _ What had he been doing? _

Dropping the arm he had been holding towards Mingyu’s throat, Minghao turns and walks out of the room without saying a word. He continues walking, up up up to the stairwell and all the way to the roof until he can sit on its edge, shaking. 

It’s cold up here, the sun well past set; the night air swirls around his ankles, hungry. From far away he can hear a few cars passing, the smell of asphalt and petrichor heavy in the air.

Something not quite anger, not quite fear rattles around his body, too big for his skin. He’d been  _ so close _ to just giving in, the bone shaking roar of instinct natural as anything. As breathing. As dancing. 

He’s not sure how long it takes, but slowly the skull-melting heat that had taken him over, subsides. He’s left trembling on the rooftop, staring at his fingers. They’re still talons, wicked grey hooks where his nails should be and the backs of his hands are half shifted, scales rising ghostlike over his skin. He curls them into fists, feeling the sharp edges bite into the flesh of his palms. 

It’s not enough. 

The moon, which had been overhead when he came up, has set before anyone comes after him. Surprisingly, it’s Hansol, features set in an unusually worried cast. He shouldn’t be. It’s not like Minghao is going to hurt anyone now. 

Wordlessly, he comes to sit by Minghao, swinging his legs over the edge of the roof, feet dangling over open air. 

Minghao tenses up, but doesn’t speak, curling his hands tighter. If Hansol wants him to say something Minghao is going to make him to reach out first. 

He does so. “I really thought you were going to take Mingyu’s face off there, hyung. We would have had to find a new visual.”

Despite himself, Minghao snorts. “Yah. He’s not helpless you know.” Hansol is silent at that, and Minghao rechecks the phrase in his head. Did he conjugate something wrong? But no, when he looks over at him, he's is staring at Minghao’s hands, still curled into fists. 

Hansol looks up, meets Minghao’s eyes. An aching thing shoves itself into the back of his throat, the same dripping red as territory rage, as his heart. “The thing is, hyung, I’m not sure he would have fought back.”

Minghao’s first instinct is to deny it. Mingyu is independent, shoulders solid enough to build mountains on. There’s no way he wouldn’t be able to turn aside Minghao’s strike, even as close as he was to his shoulder. 

He could have. Whether he would or not is another question.

Perhaps it’s less about ability and more like faith. Mingyu trusted Minghao not to claw his face off over a toothbrush, and Minghao almost did. Didn’t. A thin line of impossibilities. And so Minghao is up here, as far away as he can get from that question. 

He still remembers the look in Mingyu’s eyes, gentle despite the adrenaline of the moment. Here and now, Hansol’s are the same. Minghao looks away, down towards the lights below their feet. 

“I don’t-” He cuts himself off, tries again. “I’m not-” It’s no use. The words desert him. Minghao isn’t sure he could explain it in Mandarin either, the concept buried deeper than thought. The intersection of his entire life and something so intrinsically personal that he feels nauseous at the idea of putting it into words. 

He looks back at Hansol, tightens his hands further. The slow well of blood starts between his fingers. Hansol looks back at him, an awkward sort of determination to his gaze.  _ Ridiculous _ , Minghao thinks. Two idiots on a rooftop, staring at each other.

A second more and Hansol reaches out again, taking possession of Minghao’s hands. Something in his lizard brain both flinches back and leans forward. Those are his hands, belonging to him. And yet. 

Out of nowhere Hansol says, “I don’t think I ever told you, hyung, but my parents met in the Wells.” Minghao furrows his brows and thinks for a moment before shaking his head, off balance at the sudden change of topic. The Wells were a series of colleges in the United States, famous for their cross-cultural exchange programs. Even Minghao, halfway across the world had heard about them from a cousin, invited over for a semester. After all, they weren’t just famous for taking in people from other countries, but creatureborn as well.

At his signal, Hansol continues, thumbs rubbing slow circles across the backs of Minghao’s hands. “Dad’s a wolf. I’m pretty sure everyone knows that by now.” It would be hard not to. Minghao tips his head in a half smile, thinking of every time Hansol has taken the opportunity to scent mark another member and then bounce away, gleeful. 

It drives Jeonghan a little crazy sometimes, trying to subsume Hansol’s claim with his own. Seungcheol just smiles.

All this conversation is doing is reminding Minghao of the divide between them, of how many differences there are between pack structures and his home’s hierarchical layers of possession.

“Well, my mom’s not. She and dad met in Veilwell, and hit it off. He didn’t realize that she wasn’t, you know, human, until six months into their friendship.”

“And this is relevant how?” Minghao gets out, going back to staring at their hands. Sometime in the last minute, Hansol had wormed his way into Minghao’s grip so they were holding hands, Minghao’s bleeding palms tucked around Hansol’s. 

“Hold on, I’m getting there.” Despite saying this, Hansol pauses again, closing his eyes. When he opens them though, Minghao gets it. 

Hansol’s eyes, normally a light brown, are now tinted golden, a nictitating membrane drawn over them like a veil.

“Your mom is a dragon.” 

When Hansol laughs it’s edged with static, as if his vocal chords can’t remember how big his body is. “Yeah. We don't talk about it a lot. I’m not hiding it? It’s just hard enough being you know, me, here, much less going around telling people I’m a mutt."

The word drops from his mouth like a brick, and Minghao shivers, holding on tighter.  _ Mutt— _ the child of two different creatureborn. There were more polite ways to say it, but judging by the look on Hansol’s face, he wasn't interested. In Minghao’s grip his hands start to go scaley, layers of gold and orange shimmering, near flame-like.

He’s not the same type of dragon Minghao is, but it’s close enough to ring true, variation to a theme.

“I still don’t get how this…”

“Relates to you?” Hansol smiles, the briefest flash of sunlight. Minghao, silent again, nods. “It’s nothing concrete really, I just thought it might help to say I get it. Kind of. It’s hard to have to share everything here.”

One of Minghao’s least favorite words is  _ communal. _ Hansol’s right, it’s not exactly the same thing, but the similarity relaxes his shoulders a bit. “How do you deal with it?” he asks. Hansol always seems ready to share. Sure, he snaps a bit, but no more than the rest of their wolves. 

“Badly.” Hansol fires back. Minghao snorts, and he widens his eyes. “For real, hyung. I’m scent marking everything, all the time, and that doesn’t even scratch the surface of  _ real _ territory.”

Something that had been withering away in Minghao’s chest ever since he left the comfortingly delineated spaces of his parents’ home opens up at that. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Still, you didn't try to-” he pauses, "to kill Mingyu over a toothbrush."

Hansol laughs, a little nervously, as if he's not sure he's allowed to. Minghao smiles at him, wry. 

After a second, Hansol’s laughter fades out into contemplation. It looks like he's seriously considering his question so Minghao leaves him to it, scooting over until they're seated shoulder to shoulder. It's cold up on the rooftop. Hansol has always run warm and Minghao sinks into it, reminded of days in the practice room he had done the same, reached out for the simple comfort of another person’s touch.

Looking sidelong at him, Hansol smiles. "Part of it's the wolf thing I guess. I'm not a lycan, but I got the pack instincts from my dad, so they help when I get stressed." A glance towards the door. "Seungcheol-hyung is a really good leader like that."

Minghao nods, only a little begrudgingly. Seungcheol's determination to be a good leader was boyishly open, sincere despite—or maybe because of—the stress all of them were under. He might not understand Minghao's need for territory, but he  _ tried _ . That was a lot more than many. 

"The other half, well," Hansol laughs, "I guess it's kind of like pack there too. We know," a touch to his ring, "who's going to be in the group now, so I let myself focus on you all. It's not quite sole possession, but it's close enough to make my head shut up."

When Minghao still doesn't say anything, Hansol moves, untangling their hands to drape himself over Minghao's shoulders in a half hug. A wolf thing probably, reassurance through skin contact. It's a bit of an awkward position, Hansol half over his lap, and Minghao shifts around so it's more comfortable. "You've got to find something that can be  _ just  _ yours though, hyung. I don't think you can share the way I do."

“I’ve got  _ nothing. _ ” Minghao bites out, irritated again despite himself. Hansol's words are a blade of sunlight, lancing through the fog of his anger to the hurt confusion below. He  _ doesn't _ have anything, and the reminder is unpleasantly destabilizing, the earth shifting beneath his feet, even seated.

“Then you need to get something. Anything. Something that can be yours, a territory that you can focus on while your boundaries get stepped on.” Hansol leans back, eyes wide and earnest. Trusting. “I’ll help you in any way I can, but you’ve gotta find some sort of anchor.”

Looking at Hansol’s face so close to his own, scent a peppery whisper in the night air, Minghao’s compass heart sees a polestar. 

Tentative , he p ulls the two of them closer. His hands find the back of Hansol’s neck and anchor there, relishing the vulnerability beneath his fingertips. Blood smears on the hem of Hansol's shirt; Minghao ignores it.

He gets closer, closer, close enough that he can see Hansol's eyes, membrane still tinting them golden as a sunset. The light from the streets below falls up into his pupils, blown wide. Still, Hansol is calm, an openness to the line of his mouth, the set of his chin. He looks like every memory of him that Minghao has ever seen distilled down to a moment, years of existing in the same spaces overlapping until they became more than memory, an approximate of longing.

The idea of putting a name to that feeling, have it be something to hold on to, bowls him over even as it quiets his heart. Hansol doesn’t move back and Minghao takes his courage in both hands, puts the question to words.

“Would this be ok then?”

Hansol's voice is raspy again, a hint of static seeping in at the edges as he croaks out, "Yes." 

That's all the encouragement Minghao needs. With a sigh he fits their lips together, nose knocking a little on Hansol's as he tries to find a good angle. Neither of them have done this much before, and it shows, an awkward series of readjustments, both of them trying to find a working rhythm. His lips are chapped, Minghao notes distantly, mouth tasting faintly of toothpaste. 

Hansol's fingers flutter around his sides for a second before he presses them against Minghao's waist, half over the hem of his t-shirt. 

Minghao growls something frustrated and tilts his head a little more, taking one hand off of Hansol's neck to cup his jawline, ring finger pressed to his pulse. They slide together and well. It's not mind blowing, but it is  _ good _ , sending a wave of sparks skittering down his spine.

Slowly, that lost and angry thing in Minghao's chest settles down to a low murmur, rumbling contentedly at the little gasps Hansol makes when he takes his lower lip between his teeth, still a little sharp. Minghao smirks a little, and Hansol feels it, breaking away from him to knock the back of his hand into his chest. 

“Bastard.” But he’s smiling.

“Yeah.” Minghao agrees. And then, hesitant. “Was that- was that all right?”

Hansol grins. “Whatever you need hyung. You can want this. And,” for a second he looks away, darkness obscuring some of his expression, “I can want this?” 

The really stupid lizard part of Minghao’s brain rumbles a yes before he can think it through, but he manages to keep his mouth shut around the noise. Some of it leaks out anyways, sound too big for his body to hold, but the reverberations of it are like distant thunder instead of a train passing nearby.

Hansol’s expression, which had been turning towards the edge of anxious, relaxes itself, and Minghao takes a moment to try and regroup. 

His attention catches on little things: the way Hansol’s lips are flushed red, the way he still hasn’t let go of Minghao’s waist, the smears of blood around his neck. The sight of them is enough to draw Minghao in again, teeth nipping nonsensically at Hansol’s throat. 

“Yes.” Is what he says when he pulls away, rubbing absently at the blood drying around the creases of his own hands. “This is something you can have.”

Hansol’s smile is wide and bright. “Great, can we get off the roof now?” 

“Yeah yeah.” Minghao unwraps himself from Hansol, amused. They get up and walk down the stairs. It’s warmer inside and when they get to their dorm, Minghao pauses to take a breath right outside the door.

The thing about living in the dorm was that was that it made hiding anything near impossible. Junhui had compared it to being inside a magnifying glass once, all collapsing angles and unceasing light. Instead of fleeing, shadows gained a new definition, intimacies and boundaries packed tight enough that encroaching on them was inevitable. 

So when Minghao walks into the room, blood still trapped in the whorls of his palms, he’s not surprised to see Mingyu and Seungcheol waiting up. Hansol bounds through the door after him, all evidence of draconic ancestry pulled back beneath his skin like it never existed. Most of the dorm is asleep and Mingyu and Seungcheol are in pajamas, ready to join them. 

It’s clear from the way Mingyu is curled into Seungcheol that they’ve been waiting for a while, Mingyu’s eyes slipped to half-mast. He’s almost asleep, but still manages to raise his head at their approach. Minghao’s heart makes a funny twist in his chest, as if trying to take flight. A red toothbrush is set on a nearby table and Mingyu gestures towards it. 

“I cleaned it.” he says, eyes fighting to stay open. “Sorry about that.” 

Minghao shakes his head, an uneasy sort of embarrassment making his talons itch from beneath his skin. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.” 

Mingyu shrugs languidly, an easy forgiveness. “Just don’t do it again.” And with that he gets up, wandering back to his bed. 

Seungcheol gets up too, arching an eyebrow at Minghao in silent question. Minghao shakes his head. There was nothing for him to do. And maybe, he sends a glance towards Hansol, he had a solution.

The smile Seungcheol gives them is a little worried and a lot sleepy, but he turns away to his bed agreeably. Trusting. Now that he’s more settled, Minghao feels a similar drag in his bones, a rising tide telling him that he’s only got five hours before he needs to be awake again. First though, he needs to take care of his hands.

The first aid kit is underneath the sink when Minghao looks for it and he puts it on the floor before washing his hands. All they have in the bathroom is an industrial grade hand soap, and Minghao furrows his eyebrows at the burn of it hitting the scrapes. The lines his nails had dug into his palms are deeper than he thought they were, though not enough to make him want to go to a doctor. Pink swirls down the drain as he washes away the half-dried blood. 

The door squeaks as Hansol opens it, freshly changed into pajamas. “You good?”

“Mostly.” Minghao replies, shaking his hands dry before grabbing a towel. “Trying to figure out how to put a wrap on my hands.”

Hansol hums. “Let me?”

“Sure.” Minghao nudges the first aid kit in his direction, before sitting down on the floor. 

The kit has the normal array of bandages and disinfecting products and Hansol takes a moment to wash his hands before starting anything. Sitting down on the floor and unscrewing the antibiotic cream, he takes a closer look at Minghao’s palms, bringing them up to his face for inspection. 

Apparently deciding the scratches weren’t too deep, Hansol picks up the antibiotic cream again and smooths it into Minghao’s hands. It stings, but Minghao keeps still through it, Hansol’s fingertips a little rough and yet so very, very gentle. 

Capping the cream, Hansol reaches back into the box and pulls out some gauze pads and bandages. “Is this ok? I’d use bandaids, but these might not stick to the edges as bad.”

“Go ahead.” Minghao nods. He’s an old hand with sprains and bruises, knows the best way to take care of sore muscles, but he hasn’t had to deal with cuts like this before. He keeps his hands raised between them as Hansol opens the gaze packs, waiting. 

When Hansol places the first pad down on his right hand it's weirdly dry. Minghao is pretty sure it’s antibiotic cream and not blood sticking it down, but the combination of sensations—Hansol’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, the weird texture of the gauze, the pain from his palms—makes him shudder. 

Hansol looks up at him in concern and Minghao shakes his head. “It’s ok.” The steady focus Hansol applies to the job, like his world has narrowed down to just the two of them makes warmth bloom in his chest.

“Almost done.” Hansol says, yawning partway through. Minghao smiles, nudging him with a foot. 

“You sure you’re going to make it?” Hansol yawns again and tries to scowl. It comes out as more of a pout than anything, but Minghao decides not to mention it. It’s cute. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” With a small piece of medical tape, Hansol finishes the bandage on his right hand before picking up his left. It’s a surprisingly neat job, Minghao admits. The gauze is tight but not restrictive and it feels sturdy. He puts his hand down and closes his eyes, trying not to fall asleep. 

In the hazy darkness behind his eyelids, sensation is reduced down to the essential. The smell of body odor and shampoo. The bathroom tile cold beneath his thighs. The building heating rattling above their heads. Hansol’s fingers, warm and careful around his remaining hand, even as pain jams needles into his nerves. 

Minghao nearly falls asleep like that, exhaustion rising up to swallow him whole before Hansol finishes. He claps him on the shoulder and Minghao almost falls over, half drifted off. The laughter that comes out of Hansol’s mouth is muffled with respect for the rest of the dorm, but still audible. Minghao yawns, reaching his hands up towards where Hansol is standing.

Hansol pulls him up easily, hands wrapped around his wrists to avoid the bandages. They walk into the kitchen and Minghao grabs his toothbrush from the table before turning to him. “Want to sleep with me tonight?”

Hansol grins and nods. “Sure, you want to brush your teeth first?” Minghao rolls his eyes and goes to hunt down the toothpaste. When he’s done, Hansol is still waiting for him, curled up on a chair, almost asleep. 

Minghao shakes his shoulder and in an echo of minutes previous, tugs him to his feet. It’s a little uncoordinated but they get over to his bed easily enough and he tips them over with a sigh. A dragon’s sense of smell isn’t quite as good as a wolf’s, but it’s hard to miss Hansol’s pepper and metal seeping into his blankets.

Minghao buries his nose in his hair and falls asleep like that, their arms tangled together. It almost feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> additional content warnings: minghao threatens to stab? mingyu, but doesn't go through with it. brief unintentional self harm when minghao's nails bite into his palms. that should be it, though tell me if i've missed something!
> 
> i'm on twitter/cc @lavenderim, feel free to ask me things there. if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment!!


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